By the Hands of the Creators
by Frozen-Hearted
Summary: Hermione creates a potion that slates her up for the Death Eaters' chopping block.


She ducked as yet another curse was hurled at her, painfully aware of the one she had been hit by, and that she was out of trees to hide behind. Praying to whatever deity happened to be listening at the time to help her, she continued to duck and weave as her stamina ebbed. Risking a glance behind her, she tripped and fell as a bolt of green jetted over her head. She panted and clutched a stitch in her side, as she scrambled up, and continued doggedly on.  
  
Only a few more feet she kept telling herself, only a few more feet. In actuality, it was closer to a mile of open plains and flat land, but in order to continue on, she chanted it as her mantra. Cursing as she fell in a pothole again, she twisted her ankle, and decided to turn and die fighting, rather than go down laying.  
  
Slowly she pulled herself up to an upright position, and turned around, ready to give it her best. Pulling out her wand, she started to send curses to the direction they were coming from. Hearing a few muffled yelps of pain, and a muffled thump, she noticed that her world was going fuzzy around the edges. Bringing the hand up that had been clutching the stitch in her side she saw that it was literally drenched in blood. She stared stupidly at the huge gash in her side, and touched it again to assure herself that it was real. It didn't hurt.  
  
That was the strange thing. It didn't hurt. The world spun around her, and as she glanced up toward the tirade of spells being shot at her, she watched a stunning spell rocketed at her, hitting her square in the chest, sending her sprawling backwards, completely breaking her ankle. Fortunately, or unfortunately, for her she didn't know this as her head connected soundly with a rather pointed rock, and she settled into a peaceful blackness.  
  
It was interrupted however, by a spell that made her bones feel like splitting in pieces, then fusing back together, then repeating the process more ferociously. She thought that she was screaming, but she wasn't sure. The pain fogged her very thoughts as the torture continued. As suddenly as the pain started, it stopped. She curled herself into a ball, and lay where she was, waiting for another bout to begin.  
  
After waiting what she deemed a few minutes, she dared to look up. Some of the men seemed to be having an argument. Eventually, they stopped and one shot a curse at her that she had never seen before. The world went black as soon as it hit.  
  
She awoke either very early in the morning or late at night. She couldn't tell which, and she didn't feel like opening her eyes to find out. Something stirred beside her, and she decided that now was a good a time as ever to get her captor's attention. As soon as the person stepped near enough, her arm shot out, grabbed the person's ankle, and the person fell to the ground with considerable force. She heard a low growl, and opened her eyes to see that she had tripped her potions professor. She sat up, and the world spun considerably, but that wasn't what was bothering her. It was the fact that her professor was trying and failing to get up.  
  
**************************************************************************** **  
  
He had given up after his third attempt, and laid on the forest floor, hopelessness welling in side of him. His arms, both broken, along with a broken ankle and a great many cracked ribs. He picked his head up, as the Granger girl crawled over to him. She stopped next to him, and let herself fall into a laying position. He saw her pull out a bottle of some potion or another, that was given to him in a silent plea to drink. He accepted the bottle and swallowed it in one gulp.  
  
It tasted pleasantly of mint, but burned like fire whisky as it went down his throat. As soon as it hit his stomach, his body seized up in a flash of pain that lasted only a few seconds, but was accompanied by a great bout of vertigo. He vaguely felt a hand clamp on to his broken ankle, and then a feeling of wind around him. A minute or so later, he felt his body connect solidly with some hard object, and then he blacked out, not truly expecting to wake up again.  
  
**************************************************************************** *** Hermione knew that she only had seconds to grab hold of her professor, while the potion took effect. It was a bottled form of the apparation spell that she had created. It was why they were after her. she had created a great many potions that were greatly detrimental to the dark forces. This particular one allowed the drinker to apparate anywhere, wards or no.  
  
She clamped her hand onto his ankle, and closed her eyes as the vertigo and wind swept over her. They landed roughly, and she had the wind knocked out of her. She refrained from moving too much while she regained some form of wellness. There was a loud trilling sound nearby that was truly raucous, and a rather hard and pointed something jabbed in her jugular.  
  
Cautiously, she opened her eyes, to be met by a very pissed off headmaster Dumbledore's gaze. She felt the anger rolling off him in waves of raw magic power. It would have scared her, had she been in possession of all of her mental facilities, which were getting less by the moment.  
  
He was saying something, but her hearing just wasn't working proper anymore, and all it sounded like was mumbling. Despite her best try, even his face was becoming garbled and eventually it faded into an inescapable darkness.  
  
A/N: I know that this was very short, but I wrote it just to see if I should continue, or leave it be. So, what's the verdict? Continue or not? 


End file.
